


A Most Powerful Ally

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Erik Lehnsherr, Deepthroating, Erik Lehnsherr Cries His Way Through Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Uncanny X-Men Vol. 1 (1963)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Even though the Brotherhood and the Sub-Mariner triumph easily in the battle against Charles Xavier's X-Men, Prince Namor of Atlantis shows no signs of wanting to ally himself with Magneto and his mutants. His ego can't be appealed, and even the Scarlet Witch's beauty doesn't seem to impress him - despite her obvious (and staged) attempt at seduction.Fine. Then Erik will simply do it himself.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Namor the Sub-Mariner
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2021





	A Most Powerful Ally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinaxpow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinaxpow/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [tinaxpow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinaxpow/pseuds/tinaxpow) in the [xmenrarepairs21](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs21) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> > All I heard about him is true! He is every inch a monarch and he's sure of his strength. <
> 
> After his failed attempt to pimp out Wanda to Namor, Erik tries to seduce the Sub-Mariner himself.
> 
> Doesn't Erik sometimes make his costume appear out of thin air in some panels because it's made out of metal strands or was that just one of my fever dreams?? Anyway, that and Namor only wearing speedos has spared me about fifty words of them unclothing each other 😂  
> Dear Tina, thank you for prompting this and I, uh, hope you enjoy *hands you Le Smut™*

Panting and out of breath, Erik got up from the ground and patted the dust and the dirt off his costume.

They had won the fight. Charles Xavier’s X-Men had battled valiantly, but they had not stood a chance against the united power of the Brotherhood of Mutants and Namor the Sub-Mariner. And while Charles and his pupils had escaped, saving their skins on Erik’s ship which had been anchoring in the waters in front of Island M, they had left with him a most powerful ally they now would never get a chance to turn to their side.

“All I heard about you is true,” Erik said and turned to Namor standing tall and proud by his side. “You are every _inch_ a monarch, and you are sure of your strength.”

The King of Atlantis levelled him with his quiet, icy-blue gaze. “And you, Magneto… you are not so bad yourself.”

Erik allowed himself an indulgent grin as he pulled off his helmet and signed for the mutants of his Brotherhood to retire to their chambers. “High praise, coming from a king.” He indicated a hatch that opened onto a hallway leading to his own private quarters. “Please, walk with me. I believe we have quite a great many things to discuss.”

Even though he did not exactly seem to agree, Namor nodded and fell into step by Erik’s side. He treaded silently upon the ground, despite his towering, regal figure. Muscles like bands of steel moved beneath his skin as he followed Erik into the housing built into the rocky, barren ground of Island M.

Erik moved his eyes away and focused instead on the hallway spreading out in front of them. He knew he was prone to staring when he saw something he liked, and he also knew it usually made people uncomfortable – especially if scantily clad men were the sole object of his attention.

Well, it was not _his_ fault that the King of Atlantis had chosen to show up to his secret island base wearing green swimming trunks and not much more, was it now?

From the corners of his eyes, Erik watched as Namor took in the interior of his quarters. They were designed to be practical, spartan – but no less comfortable for it. Erik had selected warm burgundy colours for the tapestry, fitted out an inviting bedroom of which they could now just so catch a glimpse of through the open door, and he had taken care not to let his scientific equipment mingle with the designated living area.

“I’m sure you are used to more grandeur than this, King Namor of Atlantis,” Erik said when Namor did not utter a word about his surroundings and just stood there and stared. “But I trust we will arrange something to suit your needs in another part of the complex.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a snip of his fingers, he flipped on the tea kettle on the stove and walked over to a shelf set into the wall, a row of hangers beside it. There, he carefully deposited his helmet and dusted it off, then unclasped his cape and hung it, too. A cape, he thought, was the most important part of any super-powered individual's costume - the one thing that Namor lacked. He was mindful of brushing out any creases before he left the flowing purple fabric in peace and turned back around.

Namor was still standing in the very same spot where he had left him. His eyes, however, had zeroed in on Erik.

“What makes you so certain that I should not leave again as fast as I have come, Magneto?”

Erik coked an eyebrow before he crossed the room and got out two fine gold-lined china cups from the cupboard above the small kitchen counter. The teakettle was close to whistling – he could sense the scalding heat of the boiling water in his bones.

“I thought,” he answered without turning around to look at his houseguest, “that I had given you an incentive apt enough to keep you here. The Scarlet Witch is of exceptional beauty after all, is she not?”

Behind his back, Namor was silent. Then, he murmured, so low it was almost unintelligible, “It is true. Not since I have met Sue Storm of the Fantastic Four have I seen such a beauty as the Scarlet Witch. But I do not seek communion with a woman from the surface anymore.”

Erik swept the tea kettle off the stove just before it could whistle and poured two cups of steaming Earl Grey – Charles’ favourite, a habit he had held onto despite their happy days of peace and trust in Israel being long past. Then, he finally turned to face Namor.

“Do you take sugar? Milk? And as for whatever it is that you demand in exchange for staying and joining my Brotherhood, I’m sure I could procure it for you.”

“Hmm.” Namor crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Do you really believe you could ever find anything worth the while of a king?”

Erik stalled. The sugar bowl he had been levitating over the kitchen counter gently set down onto the smooth steel, and the door of the fridge swung shut again without the milk having been extracted.

He knew that look. He had seen it on Charles Xavier first, and then on countless other men who had followed in the latter’s footsteps. The world could not have guessed at the kind of greed Erik elicited in members of the same sex. 

Namor’s body was strung taut as a metal spring, his posture speaking equally of desire and reluctance. All it would take to chip away at that hindrance, Erik was glad to give.

Grinning, he held Namor’s gaze. Then, he slowly – very slowly – dragged his tongue over his lower lip.

Namor was on him so fast that he was but a blur to the eye, almost as swift as Quicksilver. Even though he had not an inch on Erik, he seemed to glare down on him as he backed him against the kitchen counter and trapped his upper arms in a steel grip.

“Prove to me that you are indeed worth my while,” he growled, his breath ghosting over Erik’s face as he leaned in close, very close, “and I might just consider your offer.”

Then, he smashed their lips together in one long, violent kiss.

Erik moaned, his hands grappling at the smooth, firm skin of Namor’s back as he fought for purchase against the other man’s body. Namor was quickly forcing his way inside his mouth, one hand buried in Erik’s hair and pulling his head back at an awkward angle which left him at a minor disadvantage. Still, he resisted the intrusion as best he could, even knowing there was no winning this fight.

One of Namor’s knees was pushing between his legs, spreading his thighs and rubbing up against his crotch. Heat kindled in Erik’s belly, low and familiar, and he keened into the kiss. Then, without warning, he found himself lifted onto the kitchen counter by two strong arms.

Namor squeezed Erik’s thighs appreciatively before he moved on to nibble at Erik’s neck, licking and biting in succession. His fingers in vain attempted to undo the collar of Erik's costume. Even though he was slimmer, leaner than Erik, there was a superhuman strength behind his every movement which Erik knew not even he would be able to best in hand-to-hand combat.

“Accursed fabric,” the King of Atlantis growled, faced with Erik’s neckpiece forged of solid steel.

Leaning away from the man’s crude touch, Erik chuckled. “You may be strong, my king, but you do not harness the awesome power of Earth’s most primal force – magnetism.” He raised a hand, fully aware of the electric charges crackling over it and making the hairs on Namor’s arms stand on end. “Watch and learn.”

And with a flourish, he disintegrated his costume’s suit and boots down to the atoms, leaving only his underwear. Most ironically, it just so brought him on par with Namor’s level of clothing.

Having to be faced with quite a lot of naked flesh every day, being King of Atlantis and all that, Namor still seemed utterly struck by the sight of Erik almost bare before him. The dark of his pupils ate through his blue irises as he trailed his fingers appreciatively down Erik’s sides, over his ass, before they each grabbed a handful there and squeezed.

Erik choked on a moan. “Agh- Gottverdammt- So I take it this means that you like what you see?”

Without sparing him a glance, Namor leaned in, and then there was a hot mouth latching onto Erik’s neck, nibbling at his clavicle before it moved on down to suck one of his nipples into hardness.

A shout tumbled from Erik’s lips, totally not of his volition. He tightened his grip on Namor’s shoulder, before he fisted one hand in the man’s luscious black hair and tugged, emitting a satisfying moan that reverberated against his ribcage. His legs hooked around Namor’s trim waist with ease, grinding their still covered crocks against each other.

“Good, yes,” he panted, then, when sharp teeth scraped over his already tender nipple, “ah, yes, right there, _please._ ”

All of a sudden, Namor stopped his ministrations to Erik’s chest and raised his head. His pupils were blown, and his lips slick with saliva.

“You talk too much,” he breathed, then grabbed Erik’s legs and pulled them off his waist. “Your mouth – I command you to put it to better use.”

Erik did not even have time to come up with something intelligible apart from a dazed, “What?” before he was manhandled off the kitchen counter and forced to his knees, the side of his face snuggly pressed against Namor’s crotch.

There was a pretty obvious dent in the Atlantean’s green swimming trunks – if that was even what they were called down there, Erik thought absent-mindedly – one that screamed to be tended to.

Without having to be told what to do, Erik took a deep breath, hooked his thumbs between the waistband of Namor’s only item of clothing and his waist, and pulled.

The cock that sprang free, heavy and leaking, was of an impressive girth – not quite as impressive as his own, Erik noted with no little satisfaction, but something to savour nonetheless. Giving in to his greed, he leaned forward to swirl his tongue around the uncircumcised head and grinned silently when Namor’s hand immediately shot down to bury in his hair and pull him closer.

“Is this what you wanted, my king?” he asked, taking care to breathe wetly onto Namor’s cock.

Above him, Namor grunted, and his grip on Erik’s hair tightened. “What did I tell you about talking?”

Erik bowed his head in a mockery of submission. “Yes, my king.”

“And keep calling me that. Now get back to work.”

“Yes, _my_ _king_.”

Then, Erik obeyed. Namor’s cock was thick and heavy on his tongue as he sucked it into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and putting his tongue to good use. The Atlantean flexed his fingers, making an agreeable burning sensation spread over Erik’s scalp, and he moaned around the man’s length, earning himself another tug at his hair. His own cock was frustratingly trapped in the constraints of his briefs, half-hard already. 

Then, very slowly, Erik took a deep breath, relaxed his throat, and leaned forward, keeping Namor’s hips from bucking as best he could.

A strangled groan sounded from above, rewarding his efforts. “ _Gods-_ ”

Erik closed his eyes and tried not to gag around the cock down his throat. Already, he could feel himself starting to tear up, not used to so much after so long a time – it had been a while since he had last done this, after all.

Still, the hand in his hair tightened its grip, keeping him right where he was as he started to choke, and water began to well up in his eyes. Namor’s hips jerked forward, an involuntary movement that made Erik moan and palm his own crotch despite his predicament.

Through a veil of tears, he glanced up at Namor – and found himself staring straight into the Atlantean's icy-blue eyes, glazed over with lust but as clear and cutting as ever.

Then, he felt himself being forced backwards and gladly followed the lead, sucking in a deep breath as soon as he could pull off Namor’s length. His lips felt swollen, slick with saliva, and there had to be tear tracks shimmering silvern on his cheeks.

The perfect picture of enticing debauchery – and sure to earn him the Sub-Mariner’s loyalty for as long as he wished.

“Well?” he breathed, pretending like his voice didn’t sound croaky and used. “Will this be enough of an incentive?”

His fingers still knotted in Erik’s air, Namor had the gall to look like he had to think about that.

“I believe,” he finally announced, and Erik yelped as the King of Atlantis pulled him to his feet and started walking him backwards, “that you will have to allow me just a few more tests before I make my final decision.”

Erik’s back hit the wall, and he shouted out his arousal. His iron grip on Namor’s biceps was sure to leave bruises, but the King of Atlantis seemed unbothered, his body crushing Erik against the tapestry, trapping him right there as he extended a hand and pushed open the door to Erik’s bedroom.

“We might as well go all the way, yes?” he whispered into Erik’s ear before he leaned in to suck welts into the tender skin right under the jut of Erik's jaw. His hand wandered down to rid Erik of his briefs, and Erik gasped when cool air hit his now fully hard cock.

“What-?” he began, but was thoroughly distracted when Namor hoisted him up by the back of his thighs, carried him through the bedroom door and toppled him onto the mattress.

Erik groaned, momentarily overwhelmed by the smooth, cool linen beneath his back.

He already knew he would have to give his bedding a thorough washing after this.

A hand on his ankle made him look up, and then Namor was kneeling on the mattress and spreading Erik’s thighs, holding two fingers to Erik’s lips. “Suck.”

Erik grinned.

“I beg your pardon, my king, but I might have a better idea.”

Before Namor could protest, he extended his hand. The drawer of his nightstand creaked open, and a jar of lube soared through the air and slapped into his palm. With a flourish, Erik presented it to the Sub-Mariner kneeling between his spread legs.

Then, he yelped when Namor pinched the firm flesh of his thigh.

“Talk only when spoken to, pet,” Namor ordered even as he took the lubricant and smeared a healthy portion onto his hand. “Or when you experience the need to tell me how good I feel inside you.”

Erik lowered his eyes obediently. “Yes, my king.”

An obnoxiously smug smile spreading on his lips, Namor circled Erik’s hole, before he smoothly pushed in one finger to the knuckle.

Erik shouted and spasmed around the intrusion, his hands shooting up to grab the wrought iron headrest, which was creaking, bending towards him, encircling his wrists in cool metal and grounding him. His panting drowned out any other sounds, dissolving into smothered gasps as Namor added a second finger, scissored them inside Erik, twisted them.

He brushed against Erik’s sweet spot, and Erik arched his back and moaned, well knowing that he probably sounded like a first-class whore. Then, Namor repeated the motion, and Erik cursed.

“Godfuckingdamnit-”

It earned him a slap on his thigh, and Namor asked sternly, “What did I say you were allowed to do?”

Sweat was starting to drip into Erik’s eyes, and he blinked it away before he answered, “Praise you, my king.”

“Then heed my command.”

“As you- aah!” Erik’s thighs shook when Namor pumped his fingers in and out viciously, once, twice.

When he could speak again, Erik’s voice trembled. “Good, so good, so good inside me. Please, more, my king, give me more. _Please._ ”

Not bothering with an answer, Namor pushed in a third finger, and when he felt that Erik was loose enough, a fourth. All the while, Erik could feel the heat beneath his skin grow. He was dripping with sweat and panting wetly into the linen sheets below in a vain attempt to smother his moans, his keening, his pleading.

By the time Namor finally pulled out his fingers and went to hook Erik’s legs over his shoulders, he felt close to unravelling, coming undone under the Atlantean’s hands. Tears had long since welled up in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks unhindered.

Oh Gott, how he had missed this.

“Tell me again what you want,” Namor commanded even as he lined up with Erik’s entrance.

“Your cock,” Erik panted, “inside of me. Please, my king, please – take me, make me yours.”

His string of pleas had barely broken off when Namor finally, _finally_ grabbed hold of Erik’s waist and pushed inside of him in one swift stroke, filling him to the brim. He was virtually bending Erik in half as he pinned him to the mattress with his entire body weight, and Erik shouted, clawed at the other man’s back, feeling so full, _too_ full, and yet not full enough.

Namor grinned down at Erik as he watched him squirm, trapped against the mattress and impaled on his cock. “Well?”

“I- oh-” Tongue-tied, Erik struggled to get his wits back together. “You fill me up so good, my king, so good. More, please give me more, please, I want to take _all_ of you-”

“Yes, just like that, pet.” Namor tilted Erik’s head back and leaned down, plundering his mouth thoroughly as he shifted inside him, making him whine into the kiss. When he pulled back, Namor added, “Feel free to tell me how much you love my cock inside you while I fuck you – though I doubt you’ll be coherent enough.”

Then, snapping his hips forth, Namor pinned Erik’s wrist to the mattress above his head before he set a punishing pace. Using more than human strength, he fucked Erik into the mattress, using his body, drawing moans like incantations from his lips as he held him tightly in place by the waist.

Erik leaned right into it. He let himself be used, spasming and clenching around Namor’s cock, his toes curling, his body rocking up and down on the sheets with every thrust – and lost himself in a haze of pleasure.

By the time Namor came – long after Erik – and pulled out, Erik felt barely conscious, and sore all over.

Not only would he have to change the bedding - he’d also have trouble walking for the next foreseeable week or so.

Groaning, he propped himself up on his elbows. Namor had disappeared through the door as soon as he’d been done with him, and now there came the unmistakable treading of naked feet on the cool linoleum floor and then the sound of spandex being stretched. He had retrieved his ridiculous swimming trunks. 

Erik scowled at the sensation of come and lube trickling down his thighs as he got up, limped over to his wardrobe and pulled on a flannel bathrobe. Then, he made his way into his module's living area.

Namor was just smoothing the creases out of his emerald-green swimming trunks, eyes fixed on a photograph of Magda and Anya on the windowsill. Erik went to lean against the kitchen counter. Their tea had gone cold, and the sticky heat of his palms clashed with the cool of the porcelain as he wrapped his hands around his cup. When he took a sip, it tasted bitter.

Namor turned around to gaze at him, and Erik coked an eyebrow. The Atlantean looked unfairly composed, and not at all like he had just phenomenally fucked Erik’s brains out.

“Well?”

A small smile played around Namor’s lips as he strolled over to tower over Erik. With Erik leaning slumped against the kitchen counter, the King of Atlantis was a good few inches taller than him, after all.

“I have considered your proposal, Magneto.” Smiling still, Namor grasped Erik’s chin with one hand and tilted it upwards. “You are an intriguing man – for a surface dweller, at least.”

Erik answered the smile in kind, undeterred by the firm grip holding him in place. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Does that mean that you’ve decided to join my Brotherhood of Mutants?”

Of all the things he expected the Atlantean to do, leaning down and claiming Erik’s mouth in a quick but bruising kiss was definitely not the first thing on the list. Erik had barely started to reciprocate when Namor pulled away again, licked his lips as though he was chasing Erik’s taste, and replied, “You have caught my attention – for now. I’ll see about a permanent stay.”

That said, he let go of Erik’s chin and turned away, striding down the hallway and out of view. Erik heard his footsteps die away, and then the door to his part of the complex opened and closed.

Grinning, he lifted the cup to his lips again and took another sip of the cold, bitter tea, the salty taste of Namor's lips lingering on his tongue.

He had a feeling that they were on the brink of a beneficial alliance that was sure to last - the repeated consumption of which both parties would certainly more than enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Comint? 🥺


End file.
